


Winner At A Losing Game

by BuickRegalRacecar56



Category: Cars (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12407253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuickRegalRacecar56/pseuds/BuickRegalRacecar56
Summary: "Wrecks are a part of racing. All that matters is first." It was the idea that Chick Hicks always used as a basis for his tactics while racing- the Piston Cup tiebreaker sure proved that. He did anything to win- but he lost the approval of a lot of the racing community through it. And that's never good for a racer. Post Cars 1, minor appearances by Cars 3 characters.





	1. Are You Happy Now

The streets were still filled with racing fans, even at such a late hour. It wasn't unusual- Chick was used to it, living in such a large city. Racing was an incredibly popular sport after all, and so many times after the Piston Cup race fans would convene for hours to discuss the final race and the others in length, usually arguing that their favorite racer could have done better that season, or boasting that their favorite racer had won, if that were the case. The excitement seemed moreso this year- the tiebreaker race had drawn a huge crowd. It was a first in Piston Cup history; race fans all across the country had been ecstatic for the big day. There were still many late night commentaries speaking about statistics and memorable moments; some cars avidly tuned in, listening to the in depth analysis of the race. Other cars were more eagerly debating the race as usual, but the tone this year seemed, different, to say the least.

His drive home wasn't a long one from the stadium, and since Los Angeles was filled with light, he'd opted to make it himself. Not like it was too much of a long shot even without headlights; no, what was discouraging was the conversations he was overhearing. There were usually an even amount of fans mentioning his name after such a race, defending his decisions during that season and such- this year, it was much more talk about what McQueen had done and how it was upsetting that the King had almost not been able to finish the race. No, the things he was hearing about himself were incredibly negative.

Cheat. Heartless. Uncaring. Less empathetic than a tractor field. Desperate. Poor sport. Bitter.

He'd won. And wrecks were a part of his racing, simple as that. They happened; it was no big deal. If that rookie kid had done it, would they really have been going after him so viciously? He'd done what he needed to do to win. After all those years of being the second best, of being the runner up, why wouldn't he have done everything to win? So why was it suddenly that it was cheating to take a chance on the track?

He rolled his eyes, catching another conversation where a gruff pickup truck dubbed him a natural disaster in car form. He'd gotten wrecked before, and usually he was able to get back out on the track- dents didn't stop him. Hell, he'd gone back onto the track with far more than a few dents before, and despite the fact that his crew chief got all exasperated about it, he didn't care. He should've gotten a Piston Cup years ago, but somehow he was always behind; a fact that he really hated. He'd been at this for a long time.

He wasn't going to let the bitterness about anyone else's attitudes get to him- it wasn't like any of the cars discussing the tiebreaker knew what it was like to lose every time victory was in range, and they definitely didn't know what it meant to do anything to win.

He finally got home nearing one in the morning- traffic was terrible of course, and thankfully the other cars had been more concerned with their own conversations than paying attention to a famous racer in traffic with them. Home wasn't much- a downtown apartment decorated sparsely with a few newspaper cutouts from races he was alright with the results of and an empty trophy case, and a few other odds and ends he needed. Considering he often was out of town for months at a time during race season depending on where the races were, he didn't need anything fancy. He hardly knew the neighbors, and he doubted they even cared that Chick Hicks lived in the same building as them. The landlady was nice enough- an older army Jeep named Ranger who had acquired this apartment building and seemed to now make a living off of the residents. She wasn't a racing fan, and he was alright with that; he considered her an aquaintance, and she would usually keep an eye on his apartment during the racing season just to make sure nothing problematic came up. 

He locked the door behind him, then went about getting the Piston Cup into his trophy case. It took a bit of maneuvering- he wasn't exactly a small car, as it were, and the apartment wasn't exactly large, not to mention he'd never actually figured out how to open the case to begin with- but finally he got it inside the case. He backed up to admire it for a moment- a victory, at long last. It felt well overdue, that was for sure. 

He yawned, and it was like suddenly all the exhaustion from the race had caught up with him. Considering the time, he wasn't at all surprised. He quickly checked the TV to make sure that the race and subsequent post shows and such had recorded; he'd had time to stop by the apartment before the big race to make sure he got it set to record. He usually rewatched past season's races to see where he could improve, but he still felt it rarely helped. After he made sure that was all set, he figured it was time to get some rest.

After all, they usually liked to interview the winners he day after the final race of the season, and he didn't want to look too exhausted.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He woken up a little before eight by his phone ringing, and he groggily drove into his living room. It took a few tries to answer the damned thing- after all, he was hardly awake- but eventually he got it.

"Who's this?" He wasn't really concerned about pleasantries in the morning.

"Angela Carmichael. I'm with scheduling at RSN. I assume I'm speaking to Chick Hicks?" She sounded curt, like there was an edge to her voice, but he could have been imagining it. 

"Yep, last time I checked that was me." 

"Great. Would you be available around noon to come to the station for the post race day interviews?" 

"Absolutely."

"Fantastic. We'll have an intern to meet you at the lobby. If you could, please try to arrive by 11:30." 

"Cool. Thanks." She hung up without another word. Short, sweet, and to the point. They had a good scheduling crew over there at RSN, it seemed. Thanks to the early wakeup call, he had a few hours to kill before then. After a bit of thinking he decided he'd just watch some of the tiebreaker. He'd recorded it for a reason, after all.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He got to the RSN LA stdio at 11:35, even though he'd left with plenty of time. The studio wasn't really far from his apartment, but on the way over some asshole of a Hummer with a 43 sticker on one of his windows had nearly run Chick off the road. The nerve of some cars was astounding. Thankfully he'd avoided a serious fight- the Hummer had been ready to knock him into next week, it seemed- but the Hummer's companions had stopped him, although they weren't too friendly themselves.

"Mr. Hicks?" A pink Mustang he'd ignored on the way in caught his attention. 

"Let me guess, you're the intern Carmichael sent down?" 

"Yes. Star Sylvan. If you'll follow me, we'll get right to the studio." She led him through the building quickly, and it didn't take long to get to the soundstage where the interview set was almost completely prepped.

"If you wait here, our producer will be with you shortly." He nodded, and the intern drove off. Admittedly, despite having done thousands of interviews over the years, he was a little bit nervous- he had never won the Piston Cup before, and after the conversations he'd overheard last night, should he really be so boastful about it? He figured it'd be out of character for him to not boast about it, to say the least. His fans for sure would be rooting for him.

"Whoa, didn't know they were bringing you on too, Hicks." Immediately all the good mood he had flew out the window, and he turned to see the all too smug grill of none other than Lightning McQueen. Of course. After that stunt he'd pulled during the last lap, he'd have to be here.

"McQueen. What a pleasure to see you again. Just had to stick around, huh?" The rookie had the most forced grin on, but Chick could tell he'd rather be anywhere but here as well. Good. At least he wasn't the only one having to force pleasantries.

"I mean, there was really no point in going out of town last night, y'know? What with how bad traffic is around here. Also wanted to make sure the King was alright." That rubbed Chick the wrong way for some reason- of course Strip was alright. The veteran had been in plenty of crashes. Wasn't like the rookie had to be that much of a goody four tires.

"Listen McQueen, just back off."

"Or what, you'll crash me too?" It was said in such a challenging tone that Chick was about ready to fight him, disregarding the fact they were in a news studio, when a red Chevy Prism drove over. The Prism seemed to ignore the tense vibe between the two with ease.

"Oh good, you're both here. I'm Digit Cartmann, producer of the show today. I have to say it is an absolute pleasure to have you both here today." As neutral as Digit was attempting to be, Chick didn't miss the flick of a look towards him on the word pleasure, a look that said he'd rather have used a different word in regards to the Hostile Takeover Bank racer. Chick just gritted his teeth, holding back snapping at the car. 

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Cartmann." Lightning easily pulled the polite rookie card, a real grin replacing the fake one. Chick remained silent, settling on a glare.

"Yes, thank you Lightning. I assume Mr. Hudson won't be joining us?" 

"Nah, Doc decided to skip on the interview. Said he's got better things to do than get fawned over again." Digit chuckled. Chick had forgotten that the Hudson Hornet had reappeared- as McQueen's crew chief, no less- and was momentarily disappointed that the legendary racer wouldn't be there. His grandfather had raced alongside the Hudson back in the day, and the stories of the spectacular stunts that the old racer could pull off had always amazed him.

"Fair enough. Didn't really expect him- I have a feeling he doesn't much feel like being in the spotlight too much anymore." McQueen laughed.

"You'd be right on that one."

"Well, we're gonna start the show in about ten minutes, so if you need anything, just ask the PAs- Jessie and Misty over there will be happy to help." Digit gestured to a tan Ford pickup and a black Mustang who were off to the side, keeping an eye on the studio.

"Thank you, sir." Chick just nodded as confirmation, and the red car drove off. An awkward silence fell between the two racers; McQueen had been playing the part of the cocky rookie all season, and then after disappearing to whatever that little town's name was came back a completely different car; it was rather annoying. Chick would have preferred not having to share an interview slot with McQueen, but they also probably wanted to get anything about the tiebreaker race out of the way at the same time. The minutes felt like they crawled by in the silence.

"Can I get Chick Hicks and Lightning McQueen to the stage for final lighting checks please?" Chick and the rookie obliged. He had to squint for a minute, the studio lights blinding, but that's what adjustments were for. 

"Bob Cutlass and Darrell Cartrip to the stage please." The two commentators pulled up opposite of him and McQueen. 

"Stage set."

"Talent set."

"Light set."

"We good to roll?" Digit's voice was the only recognizable one from off stage, especially against the lights.

"All good on set, sir. Ready to roll."

"Alright, your call DeSoto."

"Sound?"

"Speeding."

"Camera?"

"Speeding."

"Going live in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1." After the one, the Pontiac who seemed to be directing the show gestured to Bob.

"Hi, I'm Bob Cutlass, here with Darrell Cartrip. We're coming to you live from our LA studio with Piston Cup winner Chick Hicks and third place finisher Lightning McQueen- second place racer the King, Strip Weathers, couldn't make it out today." 

"Sadly Bob- he was a little under the weather after yesterday's race unfortunately, but wife Lynda Weathers says he would've loved to come out today." 

"For shame too Darrell- yesterday's race was a historic day in racing. For the first time in the Piston Cup Racing Series history, we had a three way tie for the Cup, and the turnout was phenomenal. A huge portion of the country was closed down for race day, and viewers got a special treat with the reappearance of the Hudson Hornet. As many race fans know, the Hudson Hornet was a well respected racer in the 50s, and is still a legendary icon in racing history. Lightning, I've got to ask, how did you come to get him as your crew chief?"

"Well Bob..." Chick tuned out, begrudgingly admitting that yes, the Hudson Hornet's return warranted some attention. But he was pretty sure this interview was meant to be about the winner.

"So Chick, how's it feel to win your first Piston Cup?" Bob's question pulled him back in. McQueen must have had a short answer.

"Y'now, pretty good. I've been stuck in last so long that it's finally nice to get some recognition." 

"A lot of the racing community is decidedly against your win. There's been accusations of cheating, poor sportmanship, and dirty racing since yesterday's race. Is there anything you'd like to say about that?" If Darrell hadn't been smiling in such a mock pleasant way, Chick might have brushed it off. But it really hit him that both Bob and Darrell didn't seem to be too pleased to have him on the show at the moment; Bob was just better about not showing it.

"Wrecks are a part of racing, Darrell. It's a fast sport, and sometimes split second decisions lead to cars getting hurt. I'd think you'd know that." 

"I dunno about wrecks being a part of racing when they seem to have malicious intent. I'd argue that around you, wrecks are just a bit more ill intentioned." 

"Darrell." Bob said it as a warning, but it played as an acknowledgment for the cameras. The tone had shifted very quickly, and Chick didn't much prefer where this was heading. He and Darrell had been on the track for a few seasons before the 17 car retired to become a news commentator, and they'd always butted hoods out there too. 

"Are you implying that I'm not deserving of my win, Cartrip?" He really didn't mask that he was pissed off- he hadn't come out here to get ambushed.

"I'm implying that the mindset that wrecks are a part of racing is a dangerous way of thinking and one that impressionable rookies might pick up on, and then who knows- racing might just turn into a free for all demolition derby. I mean, by all means, if you're subscribing to the theory that you're not causing unnecessary violence out on the track, keep doing what you're doing." If looks could kill, the one Chick was aiming at Darrell would be doing a bang up job. Didn't seem to stop Darrell from grinning back in a way that was more a challenge than an expression of joy. Bob, sensing the heavy amount of tension between the current racer and his co-commentator, decided to do something about it.

"We're going to go to a word from a sponsors for a few minutes folks, but we'll be back with more after the break!" 

"Cut, live feed off!" 

"Darrell, that was wildly unprofessional." 

"No shit." It was muttered by Chick, but Bob still caught it and sent him a warning look. McQueen remained quiet, seemingly content just to observe. 

"Sorry Bob. I'll cut it out." Chick could see it was a fake apology- Darrell was in a mood today, and it sure as hell wasn't going to end that easily. Bob seemed to not pick up on the signs however.

"Good. Now is not the time or the place for this kind of animosity." With the warnings through, there was quiet on set for the next few minutes, and when it felt like those minutes were stretching into forever finally the signal that they were going live came back.

"And we're back! So Lightning, I heard you were offered the Dinoco sponsorship?" This was news to Chick- Dinoco was one of the most highly sought after sponsorships in racing.

"Yeah. I turned it down though- Rusteze gave me the break I needed to get out there on the track and I just couldn't switch. They've been great sponsors this season, and I'd like to stick by them." Chick had to refrain from an eye roll- that would have certainly gone over well on camera. Dinoco was not a sponsorship to just turn down if the offer came about- with Dinoco as a sponsor any racer would be set for life.

"I guess Dinoco's gonna have to find someone else to sponsor next season. I mean, this year's Piston Cup winner certainly doesn't deserve it." Darrell said it so matter of factly that it took a moment to hit the other three at the meaning. When it did, Bob looked shocked and Chick aimed another glare at the former racer.

"Oh? I'm undeserving of that huh?" It was more a thinly veiled threat than a question, and Bob shot him a warning look. McQueen backed up a short ways, seeming to not want to get involved in whatever argument was about to go down, if there was going to be one. Chick had thought better of Darrell; as much as they'd butted hoods on the track, they'd for the most part gotten along. Of course, Darrell had also been friends with Strip for years, so that seemed to throw a wrench into things.

"Honestly Hicks, at this point you don't even deserve to be on the track. You're ruining the sport, turning it less into a display of skill and more into a lousy excuse for a good fight." There was an audible gasp from someone off set, and Chick might have been amused were it not for the tension on set.

"Well, if you're so adamant that I'm undeserving, who is?"

"Literally anyone but you." 

"I bet I could beat you without a single crash, Cartrip. You wanna test that?"

"Considering you're nothing but a dirty fucking cheat, I wouldn't trust that bet because at this rate I'd be more likely to wind up in some junkyard as scraps. I mean if I was kicking your ass on the track, who knows what kind of bullshit you'd pull if you got too desperate?"

"Cut!"

"Cancel the rest of the show, tell PR to announce technical difficulties and run the Strip Weathers retirement segment in place of the rest of the show. Darrell, I need to see you in my office, NOW!" Digit looked absolutely livid, and the crew around the stage started to turn off the studio lights. The former racer left the set without a second glance at any of them, leaving his co-host and McQueen stunned, and Chick steaming.

"So uh, see you around Bob." It came out hesitantly from McQueen, and Chick had a fleeting feeling of sorrow for the kid, but it quickly passed. Rookie should learn to deal with some tension.

"Yeah. See you around kid." Lightning sped off, seeming all too happy to leave.

"Thanks for the interview." It came off far icier than intended; after all, Bob hadn't been the one pulling verbal jabs at him. He couldn't be bothered to apologize at the moment however.

"He could get fired because of this, you know." Bob also sounded cool, although he was still more level hooded than Darrell had been. Bob and Darrell were good friends as well as co-hosts. Chick had no doubts that if Darrell was canned there wouldn't be as lively a duo the next racing season. They did well as a team.

"I think they've got enough proof I egged him on. Besides, he's so popular with the fans it'd cost more to fire him than it would be to keep him." That actually seemed to relax a little- the silver car was always more level.

"Fair point. You can go- you're probably not going to want to be out here when Darrell comes back."

"Yeah." Chick easily found his way out of the studio even without the intern to help him. Once outside, he almost started heading home. But he changed his mind quickly- he was still livid as hell, and if he went back to his apartment he'd just stew and watch the tiebreaker. In the end, he decided to go out to the racetrack- as a current racer he was allowed access to the track even in the off season for practice.

A few laps might help to cool him down anyways.


	2. The Mechanic

It happened in an instant.

He was frustrated, boxed in far behind the leaders. Every time a gap opened he just couldn't make it through before it closed. His chief was trying to give him tips, none of which were working, and as such he'd long since given up listening and making snappy comebacks to these tips, opting for silence instead.

He got fed up waiting to get out of this trapped position. He picked one of the cars currently keeping him from moving up and decided he'd bump them just enough to hopefully get them to move, and then maybe, finally, he could escape this box and get on with the race. So he went for it.

And missed.

The other racer sped up at the last minute, either a tip from his own crew chief or just instinct sending him out of the way, leaving Chick Hicks with a hell of a lot of momentum going into the turn. Momentum which slammed him into the wall going well above a good speed to hit a wall. Momentum that bounced him off the same wall, the cars that had been around him narrowly dodging the thoroughly dazed 86 car. Momentum that sent him skidding and sliding, tires having a hard time catching on the track. He attempted to correct this, but in his currently dazed state- there was this ringing in his hood he couldn't get to go away, almost a screaming tone, really- he couldn't correct and he fishtailed out away from the wall. He tried to put on brakes, still going a ridiculous amount of speeding having forgotten to stop accelerating in the few seconds he had to comprehend that there was a wall in front of him, and the speed did not mix well with his sudden attempt to stop.

The momentum of the fishtail and the sudden slamming on breaks sent him into a more violent fishtail, and the side of him on the outside of this motion didn't know how to compensate and the next thing he knew, his right tires were off the ground, and with the other racers still desperately trying not to get clipped but also trying to keep going for the moment, he flipped. He went completely airborne for a long moment or two, before hitting the wall again, right side up and in one hell of a daze, and since the turn was a slope and he was no longer braking, he rolled down the hill on tires that he no longer felt connected to. He was trying to think what he needed to do- getting off the track was an obvious solution, but first the world needed to stop spinning, and if that damned screaming in his hood would go away it'd be fantastic- but he couldn't really get a clear thought. He was aware of what sounded like a voice yelling at him in the haze, but it wasn't clear, it wasn't clear at all-

"-Goddammit Chick, look out!" It was all he could pick out of the haze, and he saw a split second too late what he was meant to look out for, but he couldn't do anything- he still felt disconnected from reality and was having a hard time figuring out if he was even moving or not to begin with- and then the other racer hit him. It sent him into a spin, and this time, mercifully, he passed out before anything else happened.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was 2008- they were in the middle of the second post tiebreaker season. In the two years since that race, the animosity towards Chick Hicks had calmed down a fair bit. The King had been a very well respected Piston Cup contender for many years, and cars who were fans of racing and some who weren't agreed that the crash Chick caused the King was just dirty racing. It was called a cheap tactic, cheating, intentional harm to another racer- anything that added to Chick's already legendarily bad reputation. Chick rarely acknowledged that animosity towards him in interviews after the first with Bob Cutlass and Darrell Cartrip. Darrell's hostility towards the racer and subsequent dropping of the F-bomb on live TV might have been a threat to his career were it not for his well beloved status as a commentator; it was his first incident with RSN and he was lightly let off with a warning and a fine. 

Strip Weathers agreed to continue being the face of Dinoco until another racer could be found to sponsor the company. It was rumored that Strip's nephew Cal might possibly be that racer when eventually he decided to get out on the track- it was well known he had been practicing for years with his uncle, but at the moment was still too young to actually race professionally.

Multiple internet polls by bitter racing fans showed that a vast majority of the racing community was out for oil. At one point, 89% of racing fans as a whole were hoping for Chick Hicks to be booted out of the racing league. It was an unprecedented reaction, and "wrecks are a part of racing" came a tonge in cheek comeback to anyone that defended Hicks' actions on the track.

Despite losing a lot of fans, Hostile Takeover Bank remained the main sponsor for Hicks- there wasn't enough of an impact on their stocks and customer base to warrant dropping the wildly unpopular racer. 

The first season after the King's retirement, the rivalry intensified between Lightning McQueen and Chick Hicks. But even with that, Chick kept doing gradually worse and worse during races. The snarky response to this by some of the other racers was that they were doing everything they could to disallow the 86 car to end their careers. Chick's responses to these kind of comments was usually some kind of gruff response that his crew chief was doing a lousy job and misdirecting him. This led to a crew chief change mid season.

It did nothing to improve Chick's season.

Between that season and the next, the animosity died down even more. They were further removed from that tiebreaker race, and even more excited to talk about Lightning McQueen taking home the Piston Cup in 2007. There were still diehards who only wanted to talk about what a cheat Chick Hicks was, but that was easily ignored when it came to McQueen's victory.

Going into Lightning's third season, the commentary was more focused on the 95 car and less on the 86 car; Chick Hicks had been on the track for a long time, and he was old news. Chick was, for once, fine with this. He was getting a bit tired with the complaints and cold fenders aimed at him. Commentary focused on McQueen's continued winning streak, and little attention was paid to Hicks, who was doing almost laughably, unbelievably bad. Crashes were attributed to Hicks almost as a joke, a way of tacking on more offenses to the 86 car's failing reputation. It was incredibly frustrating, but there was little Chick could do about it, and at some point he really stopped fighting it. He wouldn't admit that it was giving up; if anything, he vowed to do something about it. No one really knew what that meant, and if it was a threat, it was forgotten quickly.

The race in LA was a mid season race, relatively low stakes toward the season as a whole. It went about average- McQueen and a few others traded place at the lead, and Chick Hicks fell back and back and back, eventually getting trapped near last place. Trapped and unable to try his usual antics, which would be frustrating to near about any racer. 

And then, he wrecked himself.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It'd been a week, and Chick was absolutely miserable. There was little to do in the hospital but wait and watch whatever inane drivel was on TV. He'd messed himself up pretty bad this time- the doctor had said he'd probably be in here for quite awhile, and even when he was discharged it'd probably be for the best to stay off the track for the rest of the season. That was about the last news he'd wanted to hear, but he couldn't really do anything about it. He'd done this to himself after all. In the meantime, he kept the TV on the news channels, and since today was supposed to be another race, the preshows and such were going on.

"-Speaking of changes to this week's race lineup, the Hostile Takeover Bank sponsors have informed Racing Sports Network that number 86, Chick Hicks, won't be back on the track for the rest of the season." Bob Cutlass was a saving grace in that he was always so decidedly professional about such matters; Chick was pretty sure Darrell was going to be less polite.

"I'm not surprised Bob- that was one heckuva crash last week!" Chick didn't know if he was just hearing things, but it certainly sounded like Darrell was more than pleased about it. For someone so adamant that wrecks were a very serious matter, Darrell didn't seem to upset about his.

"Right you are, Darrell. I think we have a clip from last week to roll?" The screen cut to the RSN logo, then back into the footage from last week. It had been a shock to experience himself, but watching it on TV it dawned on him that he was lucky he'd gotten out of it as well as he did. Television had a certain way of making things look far more violent than they seemed. But, it really was all him from the moment he tried to bump that car until that clip from the 84 car sent him into a spin. Hell, he hadn't even known that he'd ended up flipping again- how the hell had he had that much momentum?

"Man Bob, ain't gonna lie, that looks almost worse the second time around." It was said after a moment, giving Chick the impression that even Darrell hadn't noticed how bad it was. 

"I'd have to agree on that one. In a way, it almost reminds me of that wreck from the tiebreaker. I mean, Chick has a track record with getting himself into tricky situations."

"Boy howdy, I sure know what you mean! Hey, we got the clip from that?" The logo screen popped back up, and then the tiebreaker footage of The King's crash came on, a crash that up until now he'd avoided seeing. He really had distanced himself from having anything to do with that, and as such had never watched the crash.

And it was a lot more brutal than he remembered intending it to be. Sure, he'd very much wanted to not end the race in third place, not again- but he'd never intended what happened. For a brief moment, he saw the base of all those harsh comments thrown at him over the past two years, for a moment they all made sense- but that faded into more of wondering how he'd managed not to hurt Strip worse. The live feed cut back to Bob and Darrell.

"I gotta say Bob, that crash still gives me shivers. I just can't imagine what it'd be like to go through that, and I was in my fair share of crashes out on the track! I mean, certainly none of that magnitude, but oh man, I can't imagine what that must be like!"

"I'm really not surprised it was Chick who took himself out this time. He's got more crashes than a vast majority of the other racers out there, and I'd even argue that most of those are intentional. It's dangerous, and he's only getting more reckless as we've seen."

"It's like watching the old races with his grandfather. Y'know, I think for awhile Rick 'Crash' Hicks held a record for most accidents in a single season. Old guy couldn't seem to not cause a pileup, but hey, even those didn't seem to be as malicious as these! I mean, even good ole' Crash calmed it down after the Hudson Hornet's crash! Chick's out there purposely putting other cars in danger, and yet that doesn't even seem to bother him!"

"Honestly, it's surprising that the other racers continue to not be too bothered by Chick's actions. I mean, even Strip Weathers was polite about him in any interview after that tiebreaker, and if anyone should be unforgiving of Chick I'd think it'd be him!"

"I'll give it to Strip, he's polite with pretty much everyone so I wouldn't expect anything but that from him! But hey, if Chick's so intent on wrecks being a part of racing, I doubt anything will change when he's finally back on the track!" There came a knock from the door, and Chick muted the TV. It was probably a doctor; he wasn't really the most popular patient at the moment, and the only person who'd stopped by to check on him was his crew chief, who'd been there more to get the information he needed to tell the HTB crew the news. So it was a shock when a familiar blue Plymouth drove into the room.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Strip chuckled at the very obvious shock in his voice, that same usual Weathers air of politeness and professionalism shining through.

"Don't act so surprised. I was in town and thought I'd stop by. Me 'n Lynda are visiting my brother's family, an' I figured it wouldn' hurt to come see how y'were doin' after that crash."

"I always forget you've got a brother nearby." 

"Yeah, Darren's kinda glad no one remembers him for the moment. Gonna get a heck of a lot more attention when Cal gets out on the track, but for now he's grateful he's not easily recognizable." It struck Chick as weird to be having such a casual conversation about the Weathers family, but he went along with it. Frankly, he was a little attention starved at the moment and desperately wanted to get his mind off the commentary from Bob and Darrell.

"That kid still wants to be just like his uncle huh?" 

"Yep. We usually try to get out to the speedway whenever I visit if we can, or at least go out of town t'this dirt track when we're here. He's almost old enough to actually take a shot at getting out there for real, but his mom's still worried about him." It must have been just him, but the unspoken worry seemed to be majorly directed at him. Hadn't Darrell just stated he was an unnecessary risk to other racers? Not to mention, he was so damned sure that Strip would have hated him after that tiebreaker race, but it didn't seem like the Plymouth had the capacity to be unforgiving, even of his antics. 

"Bet the wife ain't too happy about you stopping by here." 

"Lynda's fine with it. She knows I have my reasons for doing so."

"So what exactly is your reason?" A bit of the frustration he was feeling came through in his voice.

"I saw your wreck last week. Looked pretty bad- figured you could use a visitor." 

"Yeah, Bob and Darrell just decided to make a whole big thing of showing that in their preshow for this week. Can't say I appreciate that much, although I bet it was more Darrell's idea to bring it back up." 

"Man I tell ya, ya sure ruffled that guy up. I caught the post tiebreaker interview before they cut it off, and that's the maddest I've seen Darrell since he lost that streetrace to a VW." 

"Oh man, you saw him race that 53 kid?" 

"Yep, didn't think the kid had it in 'im, but he had a ton of tricks that Darrell didn't know how to counter." 

"Wish I'd seen that to be honest. Must've been a hell of a race."

"It sure was." It was quiet for a moment.

"Y'know Chick, ya weren't that bad when ya started out. A loudmouthed kid with a terrible 'stache, but ya sure as hell gave me a run for my money." 

"Nah, I wasn't that good." He tried to hide the surprise in his voice this time.

"Ya shouldn't doubt yourself, y'know. Ya really weren't too bad- learned a few bad tricks from your gramps, no doubts, but ya knew what y'was doin out there." Chick couldn't deny he'd learned a few tricks from his grandfather- after all, he'd always practiced with either his dad and his granddad before he actually got into racing. His dad was just more concerned with the actual skill bit; his grandddad was more concerned about being able to get past the opponent whether it was through skill or just a slight bump. Richard 'Crash' Hicks had been almost notorious for being a brash, loudmouthed competitor with a penchant for knocking other racers out; he hadn't really gotten many wins, but it didn't stop him from becoming a household name for other reasons. His dad- Michael 'Mick' Hicks- was more level hooded, and almost a perfect opposite to Rick. 

Mick had won plenty of times, even ending his career with three Piston Cups, and always played it off in a humble way that confused Chick.

"Listen Strip, if you came by just to lecture me, certainly you'd be better off going back to your family."

"I don't mean to lecture, truth be told. Ya gotta have a different strategy if you want t'be remembered as anything more than the most hated racer."

"Great, that's exactly what I want to hear. Thanks." Strip sighed. 

"You've got a stubborn streak longer than a racetrack, y'know? I came t'make sure ya were alright." 

"I'm fine." It came out in a clipped tone of voice, which the veteran certainly picked up on.

"Alright, alright. I'll get outta here for now. Last thing ya need is racing lessons, right? Jus' thought ya'd like some company. One more piece of advice for when ya do get back out there- be more careful. At some point ya're gonna go too far and someone's gonna get hurt beyond repair. We both know it's happened before, even without it being intentional." Strip left before Chick could respond, and maybe that was for the best.

He'd been there in 2001, and that had been a devestating example of a crash gone wrong. Senior had been Strip's friend- certainly it had hit closer to home for the Plymouth than it had for Chick at the time, but it certainly was a very rough day for racing. A lot of rules had changed since then. And Strip wasn't exactly wrong- after this wreck, he could see that if he kept up like this, his career might not end with retirement.

He just wasn't willing to admit that to anyone but himself.


	3. Things That Matter

The track was empty. It was rare to see it empty- during the off season, it was closed to the public. Racers in the area were usually granted access to practice if they wished, and there were only two in the area who usually took advantage of the LA International Speedway during the off season.

And one of those two was now parked at the starting line.

The racing season had only ended a few weeks ago, with Lightning McQueen barely beating out Junior to win the Piston Cup. Smaller news the day after had been that Chick Hicks had finally been released from the hospital. The Hostile Takeover Bank team was guarded on whether or not Hicks would be back for the next season- doctors had told the 86 car to take it easy for as long as possible, which was something most racers didn't enjoy hearing. Taking it easy wasn't in their vocabulary.

Although, that had been exactly what Chick had done. Fixed up his paint job, then relaxed around his apartment for what felt like years. Ranger had stopped by to check on him a few times, which he'd appreciated far more than he let on. The Jeep was still friendly no matter what, and he found that a small comfort. He'd had no other visitors after Strip, which he wasn't going to let visibly bother him. He hadn't really expected any- his crew were friendly enough, but he rarely saw them outside of races. His dad had retired to his homestate of Texas- he'd called twice, but there was a chill to his voice that had been there in every conversation since the tiebreaker race. It was no secret to Chick that his own dad was very firmly in the group of cars still adamantly refusing to believe he did anything but cheat to win the Piston Cup, and long before those hospital calls their last conversation had ended with the former racer telling him there was far too much of his grandfather in him. As such, two calls from his dad was far more than he expected- hell, it was far more than he deserved- but during the first conversation the worry had been heavily evident in his voice as well. He might not have been too pleased with his son's racing tactics, but family had always come first. It was a long way to drive from Texas and his dad never liked flying; so Chick didn't blame him too much for not showing up.

However, he'd heard nothing else from his dad since he left the hospital.

This was the first time since the mid season crash that Chick had been on a track. In the irony to end all ironies, it was also the one he'd crashed on. It didn't bother him too much- wrecks were a part of racing, and he'd been in his fair share. Never one as bad as this one, but he was moving on past it. Part of which was getting back out to practice so he could get himself back in action for the next season.

Except he'd been sitting at the starting line since he got here, not moving, just thinking. About anything. How the track seemed startlingly huge without a single other car present. How it seemed like he was the only one in the world at this moment. He'd gone from trying to convince himself to just drive to being content sitting here. He'd have to prove he was ready to get back out there for the next season, and this wasn't proving anything. He sighed.

"Okay. I can do this." 

He fired up his engine, a relieving feeling after all the down time recently. The sound echoed throughout the track, an almost beautiful sound. He could feel the adrenaline just from that, a feeling that he'd very much missed. He could do this.

"One lap. Just one lap for now. Let's go." He took a deep breath- then took off with a squeal of his tires.

For the first few seconds, it felt right. The echo of his motor off the surroundings, the feel of the track under his tires, the rush of adrenaline that always came from racing.

But it was obvious even after all this time that he was still under the weather, because it didn't take long for his engine to feel like it was on fire beneath his hood, and he let himself coast to a stop, easing a little onto his brakes. He could swear the shaking in his tires was only his imagination, but then again even breathing was a little rough right now. He drifted to a stop just at the start of turn 1. The doctor had said to take it easy; he was so damned tired of taking it easy. He was a racer, and he just wanted to get back out on the track and race, for Chrysler sake.

"Give me break!" He yelled it at nothing, smacking a tire against the ground in frustration. At least it was getting easier to breathe again and his engine didn't seem so overheated. He debated going back to the starting line and starting this over again, but let that thought go. He'd never really liked the idea of turning back. Might as well take a casual drive around the rest of the track, since he was out here. It was more a soft drift around the rest of the turn, and then the track evened out and was just a long straight stretch until turn 3.

It hit him like a blown tire that this was the exact stretch of track that had been significant two seasons ago. McQueen had pulled off quite the save in the infield grass and pulled ahead of him and the King. He started driving almost as an afterthough, more just crawling along, just remembering the final lap of that race. He'd been so fed up coming around turns 3 and 4; McQueen had been so zoned out that race, that he'd thought he might have a chance at not coming in last again.

Funny that now in the emptiness he could almost hear the cheers for McQueen, like a ghost that wouldn't stop haunting him. He'd certainly pulled one hell of a stunt that week before the tiebreaker, what with disappearing to some middle of nowhere town off Route 66. It had been incredibly frustrating have McQueen show up during that season, adding even more to the rivalry between him and the King, driving him further back as the runner up. He was good, a fact Chick was far from willing to admit to anyone. He'd spent so long trying to come in first and actually win a damn Piston Cup that what, he'd let the cheers for someone else get to him?

He saw the footage of Strip's crash in his mind again. He'd hit the King hard, and it had been heavily clear from the footage, as much so as it had been to him in the moment, that he'd intentionally caused that crash. It was a stark reminder that racing was a dangerous sport, made even more so when racers decided not to play fair. And he'd ignored it the immediate effects, paying no attention to McQueen stopping before the finish line, taking it as his chance to at long last win instead of losing. And he'd managed to convince himself for all this time that the crash really hadn't been that bad, that wrecks were just a part of racing. 

He'd made it back around to the starting line and let himself come to a stop. His dad had always made a big deal out of respecting other racers. About racing more to prove you had the skill to do so and less to win, which if you were good enough, wins would come to you. He'd spent so much time trying to explain to Chick, who had very much tried to ignore him, that good racing wasn't about knocking every other racer out of the way to guarantee victory, it was about instinct and knowing when and where and how to make a move.

It just always seemed that his grandfather's method was better. After all, if just a few other racers had to leave the track, suddenly there was less competition, and didn't that make it easier to maneuver? And as long as it wasn't exactly a life threatening injury, well it wasn't like wrecks didn't happen in racing, now was it?

He'd never been the best racer- hell, nowhere close to it- but after that tiebreaker, even his diehard fans had been questioning if he'd gone too far. He'd never actually believed them until now. Hell, he'd promised himself if it got where he was so desperate to win that he intentionally caused harm to another racer that he'd back off. A lot of racers had backed down from getting involved in crashes after Senior's back in '01, but that had been far more sudden and fatal than anything he'd caused. But even he'd backed off for a bit. And he'd always told his dad he'd be careful to not intentionally hurt another racer, but in the past few years, well, the line between accidental and intentional had become quite blurred.

He'd definitely broken that promise by a long shot. Maybe it was time to make a change.


	4. Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback chapter.

"Could've done better." Mick rolled his eyes, and Chick tried his best not to look disappointed. Richard Hicks, more commonly known as Rick, was a notoriously negative car. The late 40s model Buick Super had long since retired from racing, but kept his old racing number- 26- on his sides proudly in a crisp forest green color that was a good match for his eyes; beyond that he kept a simple royal blue paint job with a single red racing stripe. 

"Thanks gramps, really wanted to hear that." It came out as a grumble; second place wasn't so bad, and was the best Chick had done so far. It was only his first season, after all. He still only had a handful of sponsors for the moment, the most notable of which was still a small time one, but it'd been the break he needed to actually get out on the track. He'd done it by himself- his dad had offered to help, having a few contacts with his old sponsor, but Chick had insisted he do this by himself. It was his way of proving he wasn't a kid anymore, and it ended up working.

"Don't be so down on him, dad. We all had to start somewhere." Michael Hicks- Mick- was an intermediary as always. Having only recently retired, the early 60s era Buick Riviera still sported his forest green racing colors and a collection of sponsor stickers, the number 36 on his sides in a handsome black with gold trim style. Rick made a noise halway between a laugh and a snort, hardly regarding either them. He was far too busy keeping an eye on the post race stats that were playing on the station's TV. It was quiet late at night in Boyd, Texas; Rick didn't go far from home much anymore, so Mick and Chick had come out to him- relying on Mick's very recently added headlights- and it was a little after midnight. They were a long way from the track the race had taken place on today. 

"Yeah gramps, second place ain't the end of the world." Chick had been excited to come down here and talk racing with his grandpa- he hadn't had much opportunity to do so since getting out on the track for real, and had jumped at the chance to drive out here to see him after a second place finish. Mick had warned him that Rick would think little of second place- Chick knew that, but was hoping he'd find something good to say to him anyways.

"Second place is just the first loser, kid. Besides, I watched your race. Ya ain't bad, but ya play it too safe." Mick shot the older car a look, which Rick very casually shot down, looking bored.

"Dad, can we not condone on track violence? That's just poor sportsmanship." Rick actually did let out a snort this time, rolling his eyes. He hadn't been known as 'Crash' on the track all those years for nothing, and he had certainly never held back about letting his son- and grandson- know that wrecks weren't really as bad as Mick talked them up to be. Chick was used to such arguments- he'd grown up hearing them. The two didn't really see eye to eye when it came to on track conduct.

"Poor sportsmanship my fender, if the kid's gonna race, he's gonna need some edge. Right now he's got all the edge of a VW."

"I'll try harder, gramps." Chick piped in, hoping to stop the two from further arguments, because he really wasn't interested in another three hour long race conduct discussion between the two. 

"Yeah, see, kid ain't afraid t'do somethin' 'bout it." Rick looked smug, and Mick sank down a bit as if his tires had deflated. Chick suddenly felt like he'd said the wrong thing; that certainly hadn't defused the situation.

"He doesn't need t' try harder. And he certainly doesn't need t'sink down t'your level!" Rick scowled, and Chick glanced between his dad and grandpa uncertainly. This was a little more heated than he was used to between them; growing up most arguments had seemed more light joking than anything, but this was a tension filled bit that he suddenly wanted no part of.

"My level, huh? Wrecks are a part o' racin', Michael! It ain't gonna hurt Chick t'throw some weight 'round out there!" Rick was always ready for a fight; Mick was usually more laid back and easy going, but somewhere in there the famous Hicks temper waited, and it was a rare situation when it actually came out.

"Yeah, and if my son gets killed because o' your bullshit mantra, ya think I'm gonna be happy 'bout it?!" This was escalating much quicker than Chick expected; he noticed the station owner peek out of the building at them, surveying the situation. Despite Mick's furious look aimed at the older car, Rick just regarded him coolly as if this were a usual occurence.

"All that matters is first place. Ain't no crash ever done an'thing more than it needed to." 

"Okay. Okay okay okay. Fuck it. I'm done. Nothing's- nothing's ever good enough for ya, y'know?" There was a fury buried behind those words that Mick did well to contain, trying to seem like he was calm, but the twinkle in Rick's eyes said that he got all he needed out of just hearing that. Chick was very worried for a long moment that an actual, honest to Chrysler fight was going to break out between his dad and grandpa- but without another word, his dad drove off into the night. 

"Ya gonna go after him or what?" Rick drawled it out after a long moment of silence, sounding a bit smug. Chick glanced in the direction his dad had gone for a moment longer, then glanced back at his grandpa. Considering he didn't have headlights of his own and his grandpa did, he was better off staying here for now. His dad was probably just cooling off. Hopefully.

"As long as ya don't kill an'one out there, it ain't gonna kill ya t'get a few dents ev'ry now an' then. Ya keep that in mind, an' you'll be number one out there in no time flat, kid." 

As much as he disliked that his grandpa kept calling him kid- he was a grown car for Chrysler sake, it was just demeaning- he had to admit it was somewhat sound logic.

After all, it couldn't really hurt to take a few more chances out there.

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"Ya did good out there, kid." If it hadn't been for the voice, he might have been more irritated about being called 'kid'. But the Thunderbird was the last car he expected to see, so he let it slide. Strip Weathers was one of the most well respected racers out there, and Chick hardly thought he merited notice from him.

"Thanks." He really was at a loss for words- Strip had caught him off guard. Sure, he'd just finished first for the first time in his life in an actual race, not a practice run or training race, but there was no way the King wasn't just being polite.

"You're Mick's kid, right?" His dad was also well known to most of the racers, having just retired after the last season. 

"Yep." 

"I thought so. You got some promise out there, 86. Ya keep doin' what you're doin' out there, ya'll win some more races in no time." There was nothing but sincerity in the Dinoco racer's eyes, and Chick was finally starting to believe him. It didn't feel like a fake politeness, nor did it feel forced, and he was more than a little shocked. 

It was, without a doubt, the best thing he'd heard from another racer so far. Sure, he heard some compliments from the others before and after races, but never such a direct compliment, and certainly not any encouragement to keep doing well. There were some who were friendly to him, hoping that he would turn out more like his dad; and there were some who were cautious, the stories of his grandfather haunting his name.

"Uh, thanks. I'll try to keep that in mind." It was a lame response, but Strip just grinned. Must be used to rookies fumbling over their words around him.

"Good luck with the press, Chick. Those reporters are gonna have a lot of fun with this win. Ya nearly beat the rest of us out by a full lap- that ain't bad for a new kid." With that, Strip drove off. Chick was thankful for the reminder- he'd forgotten about the reporters. 

He really hoped he'd get more first place wins- it was a nice feeling.

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"Race fans, welcome to the Daytona 500! We're thirty minutes from the start of the 2009 racing season, and this is shaping up to be an exciting season already!" 

"That's right, Bob- ain't no place to be on a season open like Daytona Beach! I just can't wait for this thing to start!" The commentators were already in the box, and Chick was keeping an eye on the pre race show from his trailer. Really, he ought to have left by now, but he wanted to take a few minutes and really think this over. 

Racers weren't usually in the habit of changing up their tactics, and here he was, heavily thinking over what his new race plan would be. It'd taken awhile to get back up to speed, as it were, but he felt as good as new. What was really dragging him down wasn't last season's crash, but the idea that he was going to try to race differently. Strip Weathers had been happy to help him get back on track, and had come out for a few weeks to LA to act as a bit of a coach with the help of his nephew Cal. Though Chick had never officially apologized to Strip, there was this unofficial apology and acceptance between them- Strip was a very forgiving car, and Chick had a very hard time with apologies.

Chick took a deep breath- he really needed to focus. He was here to race. Chrysler, he hoped this new strategy he had would pay off, he needed it to pay off. There was a lot at stake- whatever was left of his career, his fans, his sponsor- and he couldn't throw it away. 

He had little hopes that he'd actually win- after all, he wasn't exactly young anymore, and as much as he hated to admit it, that McQueen kid was far faster than he was, and there were certain to be rookies this season who were better. Didn't help that he'd wrecked himself so badly last season, but that was in the past now. He had to move on. He wasn't ready to give up on his career just yet- and it'd sure as hell be great to at the very least go out on a high note if he had to.


	5. Our Night To Shine

"And that's the finish, folks! I can't believe it- number 86, Chick Hicks, has just got his fourth first place finish of the season! And what a race too- I haven't seen that competitive of a battle for first in years!" 

"Right you are, Darrell- both Junior and McQueen were right behind Hicks for most of the last three laps, but Hicks really held onto that lead."

"I tell ya Bob, he's been unusually good this season. It's almost out of character for 'im!"

"It's sure a change from last season Darrell- who's to say it'll actually stick?" 

"I'm with ya on that, buddy. Chick ain't never been one to play it fair unless he had some sort of ulterior motive."

"I guess we'll just have to see what happens during the rest of the season."

Down in the pits, Chick was just catching the tail end of the commentary on the TV his pit crew had. Frankly, he was pissed off that they continued to make jabs at him; although, he could understand why. It wasn't like he hadn't pulled this kind of thing before, where he did play it safe for part of the season just to come back by pulling any trick he could.

Four first place wins so far this season- without causing a single crash. That had to be a new record for him. He had to admit, to himself only, that is was actually a nice feeling to get an honest win again. Hard as hell to do- he wasn't exactly young anymore, not to mention he was still trying to be careful after that crash last season.

Once his pit crew finished up all the post race checks, he began to head to his sponsor tent. The Hostile Takeover Bank crew would want to get their own Q and A with him; the reporters too, but he'd found lately it was easier than he thought to avoid him. Probably still as apprehensive as they'd been for the last three years.

"Hey Chick, you have a sudden change of heart?" He stopped short before turning to see McQueen. Kid still had a way of getting on his every last nerve. 

"Give me a break, McQueen." He tried not to sound too rude- there was no use to get really snippy, even with McQueen wearing that same smug grin of his.

"Aw, c'mon Chick, no witty banter? I was hoping for that." 

"I dunno, McQueen, maybe I don't care to waste it on you? How 'bout you just go back to your friends and leave me the hell alone?" It was more a request than a question, and McQueen actually seemed to pick up on it for once. 

"Alright, alright. See ya around, champ!" McQueen drove off, and Chick rolled his eyes, heading off toward's the HTB tent again That kid seemed to know every way to get under his paint, and he really hated it.

It took him a little bit to actually get there- it was a little bit of artful dodging in the infield, considering there were already some reporters talking to the other racers, but he somehow managed to avoid anyone. He was shocked at the crowd at the HTB tent; a lot more cars had been hanging around since his wins started this season. Last season, any car that didn't have a reason to be around him floored it the moment he appeared; this season, he almost couldn't find a place to park in his own tent.

"Quite the party, kid." The Texan drawl threw him off, coming from seemingly out of the blue next to him, surprising in the fact that it was both familiar and unexpected. He only had to shift a little to see the Buick Riviera. The older racer still proudly had his old racing number displayed on his sides, in a solid black with gold trim to match the single racing stripe that separated the solid green of the rest of his frame.

"What on- how-" For once, he couldn't find the words to say. The last person on the planet he'd expected to see was his dad, particularly after how cool the older racer had been on their last phone call, but yet he was here. And completely relaxed, brown eyes flicking over the crowd, a trace of a smile gracing his grill. 

"What, I can't come out an' see my kid race? I mean, I'll gladly go home if ya want." It played as a joke, but Chick hardly caught it. They'd barely been on speaking terms since that tiebreaker race, Mick seeming too upset about how he'd gotten his victory to attempt being civil. 

"No no, it's fine. Just surprised, y'know?" Mick grinned.

"Fair enough. I've been keepin' up with your races this season- ya ain't doin' too bad out there. Thought I'd come see a race in person, especially since this week it wasn' a far drive. I'm proud of ya, kid." It took him a moment to process that, but when he did it was the best compliment he'd heard in years. 

"Well, I figured it might be time for a change." He kept his voice low- not that the crowd didn't need to know, he just didn't want rumors spreading that he'd gone soft.

"'Bout time." He couldn't miss the edge in the sentence, the way his dad almost rolled his eyes, but he'd let it slide. Mick deserved to get a few jabs in at him after all these years.

"I just... I wanted to win. And I didn't think about what that'd do to anyone else. And then I did it to myself and..." 

"I saw the thing they did on your wreck. Kind've a stab in the tire, that one, but they weren't wrong. Ya need an attitude check. Some racers do. Not all o' 'em learn when it happens, an' not all o' 'em do a thing about it. Sometimes you gotta look at yourself and ask if ya really wanna continue on the path ya're goin'." His dad had always known the right words to say. 

"Thanks." It was a lot less than should have been said, but meant a lot more than it usually did, and his dad seemed to picked up on it.

"Don' mention it. I ought've gone out t'see ya in the hospital. Wasn't exactly my best moment as a dad, but-"

"Dad, it's fine. You weren't wrong about me being too much like gramps. There's been a lot of things over the past few years that I needed to hear, and a hell of a lot more things that I ended up ignoring. Just took me a bit to notice, y'know?" His dad chuckled. 

"Ya certainly did get dad's stubborn side, I'll tell ya that." 

"Good old gramps, so stubborn that he kept pushing his retirement back and back and back until finally his sponsor told him to please leave." This got a full laugh out of Mick, something Chick admitted he'd missed hearing. Hell, he'd missed just spending time with his dad. Mick was a great car, and he'd forgotten that over the years.

"Dad sure had his moments, that's for damn sure. He was proud as hell his grandson wanted to continue the family racing streak." This surprised Chick.

"He certainly never seemed it. I mean, he kept pushing me to do better. Mostly I just heard a lot about second place not being enough." Mick sighed.

"I remember that, alright. Didn't stop him from keeping up with your races 'til the end though. Don't think he missed a single one. Could hardly remember who he was or where he was, but damned sure he was gonna make sure he got t'watch ya race. Had t'remind him several times which one ya were, but he sure as hell wasn't going t'miss ya racing. He always was proud that ya could stay near the front so consistently, even if ya had to fight t'do it. Even without all them stunts ya usually pull, he'd have been proud as hell of how well ya're doin' this season." Chick, for once, was speechless. Rick had always been very critical; it was just his personality, and Chick had a bit of that in himself. And eventually he'd stopped trying to impress his granddad, thinking he didn't have anything left he could prove since he never seemed to do enough. 

"I never knew that."

"Unfortunately dad was never the best at being complimentary, y'know? Hell, the first time I got a Piston, he said it wasn't good enough 'til I could get a second one. He never got one himself, and I think that kinda got t' him. He certainly pulled plenty of tricks of his own back in the day, and it never paid off for him, and he was so stubborn t' stay on the track until he got one. And then he just never did. But damned if he wouldn't brag 'bout how his son was a Piston Cup winner t' all his old racin' friends." 

A silence fell between them, one that wasn't uncomfortable, and it was a good time for Chick to just think. He'd known his grandpa pretty well, but Rick hardly talked about any more than the few victories he had, lamenting that he damned sure wasn't built for racing. He'd always known he was a lot like his granddad- it had been a little frustrating. But now he had the sinking feeling that he was far more like his grandpa than he'd thought.

Right down to not having won a Piston Cup...


	6. Yours If You Want It

"To put it simply, I don't want it anymore. It's certainly more well deserved by anyone other than me." There was silence, and him, presenting a familiar gold cup to them, the five former racers who made up the current Racing Board. It had taken a lot of courage to get to this moment, a lot of nights thinking about what it'd mean to give this up, a lot of time spent almost worrying himself sick that it would mean he really did go out of the racing career a loser. But when the race season had brought him back to LA, and he'd had a chance to stay in his own apartment, well, he'd found he could no longer look at that so proudly displayed Piston Cup without feeling a sense of guilt. As a result, he found time to get the the headquarters of the Racing Board in North Carolina, because he was damned sure gonna go about this correctly.

"This is... highly unusual." The head of the racing board, an early 80s stock car named Floyd Stockton, spoke in a calculated tone, gray eyes flicking back and forth between the trophy and Chick.

"No racer has ever returned a Piston Cup, even if it was under question on how they went about to win," added a blue Monte Carlo. Hazel Carhart had only been a racer for a few seasons, but had grown up with the sport and earned a place on the Racing Board.

"Well, I didn't exactly play fair to get it. And I didn't know if it was against the rules to return one or just hand it off myself, so I figured I'd go through more legitimate means." The Racing Board members regarded him quietly. He'd been before them many times, often for wrecks that someone complained were bordering on near illegal. He'd never gotten a call after the tiebreaker, and frankly that surprised him. Him and the red Corvette, Carson Sparks, a former smaller circuit racer, often butted heads in these meetings; the other 80s stock car of the group, Sienna Ellis, was never amused by these arguments. The last member, a green 70s Plymouth named Chevy Speed was usually the most level headed. 

"I don't see a problem with him returning it." Speaking of level headed, the rest of the board members turned to look at the Plymouth, who was currently giving Chick a look that bordered on approval.

"Considering the circumstances, I'd have to agree." Carson chimed in after a moment, for once not having an edge to his voice the way it usually did with Chick.

"I just ask that you it to someone who deserves it. Probably one of the other racers in the tiebreaker has to get it I'm sure?" Sienna nodded.

"I'm sure we can find a new home for it Chick." 

"This is a great thing to do. You've made a lot of changes out on the track recently that I'm sure the other racers have noticed. If you keep that up, you may even get another one of these in no time." He tried not to show his shock at Speed's statement.

"Thanks."   
"We'll certainly find a place for this. I hope the rest of your season goes well!" He took that as a dismissal, politely nodded at the board members, and left.

He hadn't felt this free for the last few years. It was like he could finally move on. Maybe one day he'd win a Piston Cup for real; at this point, it didn't really matter if he did in a way.

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Strip Weathers was, to say the least, confused about this meeting with the Racing Board. He was still very much involved with racing, that much was true, but Cal was maybe a season or two from starting, and even in that case, he could see no reason to be here. Still, he was polite as usual when greeting the board members; Chevy was an old friend, and he knew the rest well from over the years, so he doubted it was anything bad.

"Sorry for the sudden need to meet- we have a bit of an unusual situation." Floyd apologized, but at the same time he was fighting back a grin. This made Strip even more confused.

"It's no problem, Floyd. What's up?" 

"We have a problem with a Piston Cup. You see, another racer was in here yesterday to return it- told us to give it to whoever we felt was right. Considering the year it was won was your last, we decided it ought to go to you." It took him a moment to decipher Carson's statement, but when it dawned on him what it meant, he had a hard time not looking surprised. It was unusual to return a Piston Cup- he really didn't know if it'd ever been done, and he'd been racing for a long time. It was a move he really hadn't seen coming. He'd very much forgiven Chick for that wreck, and even helped him come up with some new strategies for this season; in all honesty, he was a bit proud that this change in attitude resulted in this.

"That's very kind o' ya'll." 

"it's well deserved, Mr. Weathers." As always, Hazel was the only one to call him that- it easily showed she was the youngest member of the board.

"It's an unprecedented move for sure, but a very honorable one," Chevy added, presenting the cup to him. Certainly it was, he couldn't deny that. But despite all the years he'd spent winning, this was one Piston Cup he didn't feel he deserved. He already had seven, plus plenty of other minor racing trophies. No. He'd won his fair share. It was funny, thinking about it. Chick had stopped at nothing to win this one. Lightning had had the same idea, he'd thought, pulling off plenty of tricks to get where he needed to be- until that last lap in the tiebreaker when suddenly the rookie had been far more humble than Strip had ever expected of him.

"As much as I'd love t' accept this, I believe McQueen is more deserving of it. After what he did durin' the tiebreaker, I don't think there's a better car out there t' give this to." It was the Racing Board's turn to be speechless, but slowly and surely Chevy's grill split into a huge grin.

"I certainly can't argue with that. Sorry we called you in for nothing, Strip." Strip chuckled.

"Don't be. This is the least nothing I've ever been called out for." Besides, he wasn't far from home, and since the next race of the season was meant to take place in this state, there was a racer who he knew was in town that he would love to stop and see.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The headquarters for the Racing Board wasn't at all far from where Strip Weathers called home in North Carolina; just a few hours drive. It also wasn't far from Charlotte, where the next race of the current season was meant to take place, and after a lot of calling around he managed to set up a meeting with one of the current racers not too long after his meeting with the Racing Board. The gas station he'd picked as a meeting spot was very middle of nowhere, so he wasn't at all surprised when Chick Hicks showed up a few minutes late.

"What's up?" No greeting, just a quizzical inquiry. Chick had always been short and to the point.

"Ya got a lot of guts, Hicks. I had a meeting with the Racing Board earlier today, somethin' 'bout a Piston Cup?" Chick avoided his eyes, trying to play it off as an annoyance to have come out here, but Strip could very much see the relief that flooded into them.

"Oh yeah. That. Figured someone else deserved it more, y'now?" 

"That's quite a big move t'make." 

"Oh c'mon with all this, Weathers, I think we both know I didn't really deserve it." Strip very much expected the pointed, almost exasperated look from the boxy car, and he chuckled.

"Alright, don't get so defensive. I'm jus' messin' with ya." Chick very visibly relaxed; he seemed to spend less time these days on guard, but he still had his moments.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

"It's no problem. Honestly, I'm proud of ya. You've been doin' better this season, and then this whole thing with the Piston Cup-"

"I couldn't take it anymore." Chick cut him off in a quick burst, startling Strip. "I just- everytime I looked at it, I thought about how bad I wrecked you. And I how I didn't even know how bad that wreck actually was until they showed it after mine. I couldn't take it anymore, because for years I kept trying harder and harder to win, and the one time I did, well, I just told myself that wrecks were a part of racing and that all that mattered was first and I thought that would get me through it. And so here I am. Giving up the one victory I have." 

It left Strip a little speechless- the entire monologue was lacking in Chick's usual bragging and edge, and held a sincerity that he hadn't even heard while helping him train for the current season. Funny, he'd known the racer was changing up his tactics, but he had only had a vague idea of what was really going through that hood of his. 

"Ya did the right thing. It's hard t'come t' terms that ya didn't get somethin' fair and square." It was all he could think to say.

"It's easy when it comes down to what kind of racer I want to be remembered as." It was quiet between them for a few moments.

"So, how's that eighth Piston Cup treatin' ya anyways?" The usual teasing edge was back in Chick's voice, a hint of a grin backing it up.

"Actually, I didn't accept it. Felt there was a far better candidate for it and told the board so." He watched the realization dawn on Chick- there was still an almost legendary rivalry between Hicks and McQueen on track, even if last season had been Chick's worst. 

"For once, you ain't wrong." Strip gave him a mock quizzical look.

"For once?" Chick laughed, and Strip joined him. 

"Okay, yeah, I should've thought of that. Can't give that McQueen kid too much extra help, y'know? Anyways, I ought to be getting back- no headlights, y'know?" Strip nodded- it was dusk, after all.

"Fair enough. Good luck on your next race." 

"Thanks."

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"So they just gave you the Piston Cup?" Doc's expression was very much the exact mixture of amusement and confusion that Lightning was feeling at the moment. 

"Not exactly? It's apparently a return- Chick returned his from '06 and they thought I deserved it." The confusion disappeared from Doc's grill, but only a little.

"So, that punk finally had a change of heart, huh? Talk about the surprise of the century." 

"He's still just as much of a jerk as he's always been, so I don't get it." Doc chuckled.

"Rook, you wouldn't notice if your own tires were stolen right off your rims. Hicks has changed up his style this season, and whether it's because of that wreck he got himself into or he's finally seeing that he was causing more problems than he should be, you got a Piston Cup out of it." Doc's expression soured for a moment. "He's lucky he's built so tough- a wreck like that might've thrown another car out permanently. I sure pulled some dumb stunts in my day, but I was never asking for as much trouble as he did." 

"I wouldn't doubt he goes back to his old ways next season, and then I'll just have that to watch out for again." Even just the thought frustrated him- the last thing he really wanted back on the track was the constant lingering fear of death by intentional wreck that seemed to follow the 86 car around.

"If that punk tries his petty tricks on you again kid, I'll give him more than enough reason to retire." Lightning couldn't help but laugh at the overly serious expression on Doc's grill, trying to imagine the Hudson finding some way to get Chick permanently off the track. 

"Whatever you say, Doc."   
"Can't say it's not admirable that he gave up his trophy. He sure as hell ain't the type to go about thinking it's just an empty cup." 

"As long as he doesn't try to take it back, I'm not gonna spend too much time thinking over why he did this."  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hot dog folks, it's the last lap of the Piston Cup race and I don't believe it!" Darrell Cartrip, enthusiastic as ever and alongside Bob Cutless, were full of energy in the RSN box at the Florida 500.  
"The racers are entering turn 1, McQueen in the lead, Hicks in second-"

"-Looks like rookie Bobby Swift just passed Junior for third-"

"-Hicks passes McQueen rounding turn 2, they're in the straightaway!-"

"-Junior passes Swift, McQueen's trying to get around Hicks, but Hicks is doing a bang up job of blockin' him-"

"-They're rounding turn 3, McQueen just behind Hicks, Junior just behind McQueen, Swift behind Junior-"

"-This sure is a close one!-"

"-Rounding turn 4, we're in the final stretch, all they have to do is cross the finish line-"

"-McQueen is close to getting out of second, but Hicks just keeps cutting him off-"

"-McQueen manages to pull alongside Hicks, he's just a little behind first with just a few car lengths left-"

"-And..."

"-That's the race, I can't believe it!"

"Chick Hicks has just won the Piston Cup, oh man what a race!" The cheers from the crowd flooded into the box, adding to the excitment.

"He spent so much of that race trading places with McQueen, and it finally paid off in his favor!" 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He still couldn't believe it. Even as his crew started to celebrate, he couldn't believe it. Hell, racers who hadn't so much as glanced his way for the last few years were throwing a friendly congrats his way. He meant to head towards his sponsor tent- in the probably futile hope that it would be less crowded and he could actually take a breather for a moment- but of all the other racers, Lightning McQueen then showed up.

"Good race, Chick." The smile was genuine, which certainly Chick did not expect from McQueen.

"Thanks. You ain't exactly too bad out there. Just couldn't pull a repeat of last season?" He added the last jab as an attempt to maybe get McQueen to leave him alone; he still didn't much care for the kid, although he'd begrudgingly admit he was pretty good.

"C'mon Chick, you actually deserved this one. I don't think you caused a single serious crash on purpose- what's that, a new record?" It was a playful jab, and for once, Chick was okay with it.

"Don't expect that record to stand, kid." The look on McQueen's grill rapidly changed to suspicion, the red car backing away just a bit. Chick couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm just messing with ya, McQueen. You ain't got nothing to worry about. I'm done crashing out there- it sucks being on the other side of that, y'know?" He meant to begin driving off.

"So it is true then?" It stopped him before he even really got started. Did he really want to admit it to McQueen, of all people? He'd spent a whole season changing up his style without ever acknowledging that he had on an interview, and his change in style had resulted in a lot less wrecks during the season than racers were used to with him.

"Yeah, it's true. This ain't no demolition derby, and there's really no reason to turn it into one." 

"It's certainly nice to not have to worry about that on the track." There was just the faintest hint of relief in McQueen's voice.

"Don't push your luck though, kid. I'll still knock you for a loop if you get in my way." Lightning chuckled. 

"I wouldn't expect anything different, Chick."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The streets were filled with racing fans, and there was decidedly more green mixed into this year's crowd. A lot more 86 themed baubles too. He got stopped many, many times on his way back to the hotel- certainly he wasn't going to go home tonight. There were a lot of requests for pictures, cheery congratulations, and occasional drink offers. He declined these, mostly because at the moment he very much wanted to rest.

It felt less like a dream now. Less like something he'd imagined so much and more like the reality that it was. This Piston Cup was a proud declaration that he could win one without all his cheap tricks and dirty tactics. It was very much finally a badge of honor that he'd be happy to put in his trophy case- proof that he wasn't so bad after all. He'd have to call his dad tomorrow- he'd love to talk to his dad about this race.

Thankfully the hotel was less crowded and he got to his room nearly without being called out, although he did hear a faint congratulations from one of the cleaning staff in the lobby. He was more tired than he thought, yawning as he drove into his room. Racing was a tiring sport- he almost envied Strip. Retirement must be pretty nice, getting to go around the country at his leisure, not having to be in a certain place at a certain time just to qualify for the next race. Hell, it didn't seem like a too far off idea- his doctor had been adamant that if he really didn't want to get terribly hurt out there again, it'd be better to only race for a season or two more, and there'd been times this season where he'd definitely understood that. He certainly wasn't as young as he'd used to be anymore. At the time though, he'd brushed him off- racing had been his life, and he hadn't been willing to give that up.

Now though, that seemed like a good option. Go out on a high note, why not? Prove he had the capacity to do good at racing without messing anyone else up, then gracefully quit before he could get disgraced again and go back to his old tricks. He certainly didn't want to wreck himself again, but there were a lot of newer racers out there who he just couldn't keep pace with. He'd been in this game for a long time. 

He yawned again- it was late. Very late. And he was far more exhausted than he'd thought. He could consider what the future would be later. Now he just wanted to sleep. He put the Piston Cup with the few things he brought along during the racing season, then parked for the night.

Afer all, they usually liked to interview the winners the day after the race, and he didn't want to look too exhausted.


End file.
